


Secrets Left in Your Hands

by notthequiettype



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:51:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7039327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthequiettype/pseuds/notthequiettype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Monmouth's empty. If you're looking to be somewhere else."</p><p>The idea of wandering around Henrietta alone seemed suddenly embarrassing in the face of Ronan Lynch and his car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets Left in Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I hadn't intended for my first new fanwork in almost four years to be this pairing! Or even this fandom! But you write what you write, right? ANYWAY. Hi!
> 
> Title is from "Lie Without a Liar" by ...And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead

She ends up at Monmouth unintentionally. She'd left Fox Way and she'd planned to walk a while, a long while, because her head was muddied and her hands were idle, twitching and unmoored. But she hadn't planned to go anywhere.

She heard the slow approach of an engine behind her and palmed the knife in her skirt pocket, the weight of it familiar and comforting, and refused to turn. The car curbed behind her, she kept her pace and then, "You need a ride?"

She sighed, shoulders slumping, and eyes dropping shut - a mix between resignation and annoyance. She turned slowly, leaned into the passenger window. "Shouldn't you be in church?"

Ronan shrugged. "Early service."

She'd stared at his hands, one on the wheel, two knuckles scabbed, his other relaxed against his thigh. He was wearing a collared shirt and dark, expensive jeans without holes. It was strange to see him so clean, his face freshly shaven. 

"Happy to drive away, if you prefer."

"I don't need a ride. I'm not going anywhere."

Ronan had nodded, his thumb dragging against the inseam of his pants. "Monmouth's empty. If you're looking to be somewhere else."

She'd opened the door and gotten in because she didn't have another plan and the idea of wandering around Henrietta alone seemed suddenly embarrassing in the face of Ronan Lynch and his car.

At Monmouth, she follows him up the stairs, through the model city, and through the doorway of his bedroom. Once there, she freezes, not because she's never been in Ronan's room, but because she's never been there in Ronan's presence. He sits on the edge of his bed and undoes the buttons of his shirt, Blue's eyes locked on the deft movements of his thick fingers.

"You undress in front of all your guests?"

"When necessary," he says, smirking. She watches the flex of his arm and the flight of the discarded shirt across the room into a corner pile of laundry. He kicks off his shoes and settles further on to the bed, turning music on, the only indication of his awareness of her presence is the relatively reasonable volume he chooses.

She walks out, unable to tolerate his disinterest, and wanders Gansey's model. Ronan says nothing. She doesn't expect him to.

She doesn't last long. She's seen the model as it's grown, Gansey's careful building. She doesn't need Ronan's attention. She'd left Fox Way because she wanted to be alone, but she finds herself in his doorway again anyway.

"I don't bite," he says, showing more teeth than necessary.

She steps further into the room, dragging her fingers delicately along the spines of books piled haphazardly on the desk. "That doesn't sound like you."

Ronan shifts from his back to his side on the bed, head resting in his hand. "Won't, then."

Blue laughs, a huff of breath.

"Not unless I'm asked," he adds, eyebrows raised.

Blue looks at the hard line of his jaw, his pronounced cheekbones, the dark stubble of his scalp, the light of his eyes and the shadows under them. She tries to think of Gansey. She'd rather not.

She walks over to the bed and sits down at his hip, hands folded in her lap. "Do you think they know they make it worse?"

She expects something sharp, dismissive, instead she gets thoughtful silence. "I think they make the only choices they can."

She turns toward him in surprise, her leg coming up on the bed and coming into direct contact with his thigh. " _Really_?"

Ronan shrugs, his eyebrows lifting. "I can't imagine Gansey being cruel."

"And Adam?" She tries to be delicate, but instead it just sounds whispery.

"We're just on... different schedules."

She pulls at the fringe at her sleeve. "You don't seem to care that I know."

"If you thought I'd care, why'd you say anything?" He curls his fingers into the fringe where her fingers had just been.

"I hate secrets."

Ronan tugs at the fringe, her sleeve slipping off her shoulder. "Hardly a secret when everyone seems to know."

Blue watches him looking at the newly bared patch of skin between her tank top and the collar of her overshirt. Her skin warms incrementally. "Wanted to know if you'd lie."

"I never do." His fingers are still tugging idly at her fringe.

"Is it only Adam?"

"Is Adam the only guy I want? Or the only person?"

Blue shrugs, her sleeve slipping further.

"The only one I let myself think about."

Blue's eyes fall closed against the intensity of Ronan's gaze on her, moving from the bare skin at her collarbone to the curve of her mouth. Ronan never lies. "I'm tired of not being able to have him."

She feels Ronan shift on the bed, her thigh pressing against more of him, the hard plane of his belly against her knee like he's curled himself into her. "So man up, Sargent. Have him."

Blue sighs, leans into the stretch of Ronan's thigh. She doesn't think she's ever been this physically close to him outside of the Pig's backseat. "It's not that simple."

Ronan groans and Blue opens her eyes. Ronan rolls his at her. "So walk into the woods and lie down."

Blue arches an eyebrow at him. "Did you... just make a _Twilight_ reference?"

"Did you just understand one?"

Blue tilts her head, considering Ronan. "What's your excuse?"

"I like werewolves."

Blue laughs, sudden and loud. "About Adam."

"It's different. I can't force it."

Blue arches another eyebrow at him. "You think Adam isn't willing?"

Ronan tugs her sleeve harder, pulling it further down, pulling her toward him. She gives in to the gravity of it, lets herself fall against his chest as he turns onto his back again. She's certain she's never been this close to him.

"Willing isn't enough," he says, his fingers landing easily at her bare shoulder.

Blue shifts, folds her hands on Ronan's chest and rests her chin on them. His face is softer from this angle, where she can see the hollow of his throat and the curve where his neck becomes his skull. He seems less angular, less harsh. "You need Harlequin romance?"

Ronan laughs, his fingers moving from her shoulder to the base of her skull. "Do I seem like a romantic?"

Blue nods emphatically. "Yeah. Very much. A lot."

Ronan pulls a short hair, not even hard enough to sting. "Take that back."

"Absolutely not," she says, laughing. "Dreamer. Greywaren. Hopeless romantic."

Ronan squeezes her neck, thumb against her scalp. "Mirror. _Witch_." Heat unfurls inside of her, starting where each of Ronan's fingertips are touching her.

She turns her head, tucking her face against his chest. She thinks looking away from him will help her recover her breath, regain control of the heat spooling through her. "You're a bad influence."

She feels Ronan's laugh more than she hears it, his chest flexing gently under her. "I don't know anyone that would disagree with you."

She looks up at him again, spreads her hands out over his chest, one palm over his heart. "Does that bother you?"

"I've got a girl in my bed in the middle of the day and we're wearing all of our clothes, how bad can I be?"

Blue pushes up and shrugs out of her overshirt, tosses it on the floor before she settles against Ronan's chest again. Ronan looks at her, a question in his eyebrows and the line of his jaw. Blue shrugs. "I'd hate to ruin your reputation."

She can almost hear Ronan's brain churning, catches the appraising way his eyes examine all of the new skin. She's wearing an olive green, narrow-strapped tank top, over a lacy orange bra. She feels the shift of Ronan's arm and then his fingertips are tracing the borders of her bare skin between bra and tank strap, then the collar of the shirt between her shoulder blades. She wonders, briefly, if other teenagers are this close to their friends. She decides she doesn't particularly care.

Ronan's hands move to her bare arms, still more fingertip than hand touching her. He trails down her arms to her elbows, following them to where her hands are stacked again over the center of his chest. He traces each of her fingers, Blue trying to keep her uneven breathing as quiet as possible.

Ronan presses two fingers under her chin, tipping her face up to him. "Say something." His voice is quieter than she thinks she's ever heard Ronan be.

"I wish you weren't wearing a shirt."

Judging by how wide his eyes go, Ronan was expecting something else or maybe nothing at all. She doesn't often give in to his commands. He recovers quickly, smirking. "That can be arranged."

She pushes up on her hands, raising her eyebrows in challenge. Ronan sits up far enough to strip his tshirt off then resumes his position under her. Blue settles against him again, almost startled by the heat of his bare skin. Her fingers go immediately to the tendrils of his tattoo that curl over his shoulder, tracing. He returns to carefully touching her arms and back. She can only think about the bare skin under her, the place where her shirt is rucked up and their bellies touch. She thinks if she looks up at him again, he'll see the flush on her face and laugh.

"I could be your third best thing," he says, one hand at the base of her skull and the other on her upper arm.

"Third?"

"I thought I'd at least outrank a ghost."

Blue laughs, lets herself look up at him. His face is elegant instead of sharp at this angle, and the carved arches of his cheekbones are flushed pink, his mouth slightly open, pupils large and dark in the pale blue of his iris. Her breath rushes out of her. She recovers only slightly. "Incorporeality makes for interesting bedfellows."

"You read too much," Ronan says, his hands on her ribs, pulling her up. "And think, too," he adds, and then moves to touch his mouth to hers. Blue jerks back, Ronan's eyes instantly wounded with it.

She presses her mouth to his neck instead, his collarbone, the perfect hollow of his throat. It's an apology, she hopes, and an explanation.

Ronan wraps his arms around her and turns them over, more fluid and gentle than she'd expect, and she finds herself crowded by him, his eyes glinting. "Saving your mouth for Gansey?" It's a little mean, but he says it with his teeth against her throat and it makes her hot all over.

She answers by spreading her legs and letting him fit between them, tucking her face into his neck. "Thought you might be saving yours for Adam."

Ronan groans and pushes against her. The sudden pressure against her makes her eyes roll back a little and the surprise of his cock against her is acute. She digs her fingers into his bare back, her fingertips finding sections of tattoo that have scarred a little, raised edges she follows to his lower back, the waistband of his jeans. 

She moans into his skin when he pushes against her again, hitches her hips when he shoves the layers of her skirts up and skims his fingers over the front of her underwear. He touches her there for just a few seconds, like he's learning something from the contact, then drags his fingers against her inner thighs. 

She's never been able to make noise at home by herself and she's surprised by how easily they come from her mouth. She's particularly loud when Ronan's hands finally move up under her shirt and cup her through the mesh of her bralette. He drags his teeth against her shoulder. "I can take notes for Gansey," he says, his smirk almost somehow audible, "if you're interested."

She scratches her nails down the back of his skull, his neck, watches his eyes flutter shut and his mouth drop open, relishes the way he pushes harder between her thighs. "I'd offer to do the same for Adam, but I get the feeling he won't need them."

Ronan snags his teeth on her upper arm, more pinch than bite -- keeping his word by the skin of his teeth -- and she hisses, then laughs. He looks up at her, her hands moving to open his jeans. "Are you calling me easy, maggot?"

She laughs, hesitates for just a second before she pushes her hand in and cups him through his boxers. The broken whine that comes out of his mouth against her ear and the desperate way he pushes into her hand make her wonder if this is the first time anyone has ever touched Ronan like this.

She's not surprised, exactly, by how much she enjoys the feeling of him against her hand, the way her body responds to it, to the little shifts of his body against her as he tries to control the friction. The power it makes her feel when he can't, though, is a revelation. The surge that pulses through her when she pushes under his boxers and feels the bare, hot skin of him against her palm makes her entire body shudder.

Ronan's mouth is at her neck, his hand working from her hip to her underwear again. Her breath catches, his fingertips curled just under the waistband. He waits, his breath against her neck and the quiet rhythm of Ronan's music the only things she can hear, her senses overwhelmed. Even his hips have stilled, her fingers curled around his cock. She sometimes thinks everything coarse and severe about Ronan is an act. "Please," she says, her lips grazing the skin under his ear.

He pushes under the fabric and touches her so, so gently, like he's mapping her skin, her responses. Blue feels like she's going to come apart under his attention, like her seams are splitting. He pushes into the slick center of her, slowly, his thumb against her clit and her body spasming all over, inside and out. He stares down at her, watching the way she reacts to him, and being the sole focus of his attention lights her up all over, heat and electricity racing across her entire body.

"Gansey has no fucking idea what he's missing."

Blue moans, her back arching, and finally remembers to move her hand, short strokes along the length of him, the angle awkward. Ronan presses into them though, rocking into her fist, and she feels overwhelmed by all of it, all the places they're touching and all the places they aren't. She likes that Ronan keeps his mouth on her, her throat and jaw and shoulders, but never strays near her lips. She likes that Ronan doesn't have to be told twice.

Her orgasm surprises her, sudden and intense, her cunt spasming tightly around Ronan's slow-moving fingers. The sound that comes out of her seems to surprise them both, but Ronan just smirks against her collarbone and fucks into her fist, groaning against her skin in a way that makes her shiver. She tries to keep up, to jerk him off, thumb rubbing at the head of his cock. When he comes, hot over her fingers, he goes silent except for the panting breaths he's taking against her. 

They extract their hands, Blue wiping hers against Ronan's sheets. Ronan rests his weight against her, still between her legs, and pulls his hand up to his mouth, sliding the fingers that were inside of her past his lips.

Blue only raises her eyebrows and watches. Ronan never shocks her and she likes the way his mouth looks circled around his own knuckles. He pulls them out with a pop and smiles at her, all teeth. Blue laughs, big breathy ones. Ronan's face sours a little, so she grabs him around the shoulders and pulls him down on top of her fully. She lets her mouth graze his ear. "I'm not laughing _at_ you."

He wraps his arms around her, tucking his face into her neck. "You've got a fucked up sense of direction."

She rubs her face against the stubble of his scalp, rubs her hands over his shoulder blade, his tattoo. She loves the tactility of it, the freedom to _have_. "Adam's going to be very lucky to have you."

"Fuck you." There's no heat to it and he says it into her skin, so Blue laughs again, scratches her nails against his scalp.

"I'm not joking."

"So this _doesn't_ mean we're dating now?" She can feel his grin against her.

"No, but maybe I should let you give me rides more often."

Ronan laughs then, his chest vibrating against her, and it feels good and familiar and safe. Safe as houses.


End file.
